Free for drinking today...

...if anybody is interested, that is. How could you not be interested? We could team up and fondle some girly drinks together. And maybe I could tell you some non-stories about my non-trip to Miami where I had a grand total of... 6 drinks. And no, that's not a typo, so stop pinching yourselves. Wake up and smell the sad feelings of sobriety.

I guess since I'm here already I might as well relate to you some of the non-stories of the lamest trip in the world.

I arrived in Miami on Wednesday night, without a single dollar to my name, and spent a positively spectacular night playing Grand Theft Auto until the wee hours of the morning (exciting stuff, huh?). Of course, after such an exiting night, I could not help but feel that I wanted to keep it up the next day, so while my mom and sisters went out shopping, I turned up the crazy knob and stayed home studying and doing homework, all the while chatting it up with babes on the internet. Then at night we went to Segnor Frog's, where I had one long island and a cigarrette before dinner, and one long island and a cigarrette after dinner, capping it all off with another fabulous marathon of playing Playstation until the wee hours of the morning. Weird, wild stuff.

Early on Friday I had pretty much the craziest time of my life. I spent the whole morning driving around with all the women in my family along with my sister's fiance, looking at jewelry and tuxedoes and, you know, adrenaline-pumping stuff like that. It was great. When I got home at around 1:00pm I decided to start gathering a few materials (a large stone brick, a rope with a comfortable nooze, and the perfect spot on the deep part of the lake) to enjoy the next afternoon of my joyful existence.

That's when Big Papa showed up. And I just had the most brilliant idea. Really. It changed my life.

"Hey dad, wanna go to the ballgame?"

Now, he didn't seem very pumped up at first, partly because we weren't drunk and the stadium is way the hell over in the middle of fucking nowhere. But the sight of the brick and nooze probably softened him up, so he was like "Alright, alright."

And I was like: Hellyeah. Marlins. Dontrelle Willis. Hickory smoked sausage. Marlins. Marlins. Miguel Cabrera. Burgers. Ditka... For real, everything was forgiven once I stepped into the ballpark. It changed my life. *wipes away tear* I even got the official Marlins shirt that I've wanted since 1993. *wipes another tear* It even says "Willis" on the back. *feels great*

(By the way, dear fuckfaces, that was the *one* highlight of my most holiest of holy weeks. Because I'm not even going to tell you about the next day when we went to the party after my sis got legally married, and I went to the bar, asked for a drink, layed down a 20, and almost shit my pants --ok, I did shit my pants-- when I got 2 bucks in return. I had to keep refilling my drink with tears. And this was only a couple of hours before I had to make it to the airport for my 6:00am flight.)

Now, I'll ask again: Will somebody please have a drink with this poor boy?